The Contemporary African Kitchen: Cooking with Culture
Photo by: Moustafa Elrefaey
I never thought I’d find myself writing about a cookbook, let alone cooking from one. Growing up, the kitchen was never my domain—I didn’t learn how to cook or even dabble in making meals. So, the idea of diving into Alexander Smalls' The Contemporary African Kitchen felt completely out of my comfort zone. But as I flipped through its pages, I realized the best way to truly write about this book was to immerse myself in it through hands-on experience.
One recipe immediately stood out to me: the Egyptian Falafel, or Ta’amiya. As an Arab, falafel has always been a staple in my life—a dish we ate almost every week as a family. Some of my fondest memories involve sharing falafel sandwiches with my dad, especially on mornings before school. Choosing to make this dish felt like the perfect way to honor both my roots and the essence of Smalls' cookbook: connecting food to personal stories and cultural heritage.
What makes this recipe even more special is how it perfectly embodies the blend of Arab and African heritage. Growing up in a mixed-culture household, being both Arab and African, this blend feels like second nature to me. It’s so ingrained in my life that I can’t even differentiate which parts of me belong to which culture—it’s all one seamless experience. And that’s exactly what makes my heritage uniquely mine. This seamless blend of cultures has shaped how I see the world, and it’s a perspective that feels both deeply personal and universally significant. Egypt, often seen as the gateway between Africa and the Middle East, carries a rich cultural fusion that mirrors my own experience. Smalls’ recipe celebrates this connection, showcasing Ta’amiya as not just a dish but a symbol of shared traditions and flavors that feel both deeply familiar and profoundly special.
While I never formally learned to cook, what little I know comes from watching my mother in the kitchen. She always tasted as she went, adjusting flavors intuitively, and that’s exactly what I did with this recipe. I let my palate guide me, sampling as I cooked, and it felt like a nod to my upbringing—blending childhood nostalgia with the joy of discovering how food can tell a story of unity and heritage.
Growing up, I often saw my mother using a cookbook written by a close family friend, Badeea Beyari. When she was done, she would carefully put it away, almost like it was a treasured artifact. I used to sneak a look at it when she wasn’t home, flipping through the pages, fascinated by the idea of following recipes to create something magical. I guess, in a way, I always wanted to use a cookbook, even if I didn’t know it back then.
There may have been a time when Alexander Smalls never imagined he would write a cookbook, just as I never thought I’d be writing about one. Yet his life has been a remarkable blend of artistry and culinary exploration, driven by a passion for storytelling. Born in Spartanburg, South Carolina, Smalls grew up immersed in the Gullah Geechee culture of the South, a region rich in African American traditions that deeply influenced his understanding of food and heritage. For Smalls, food became a powerful medium for preserving legacies and sharing histories—values that, unexpectedly, I found mirrored in my own life as I embarked on this journey with his cookbook.
Photo by Alesia Kozik
Initially, Smalls pursued a career in opera, earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts in opera from the University of North Carolina School of the Arts and continuing his training at the prestigious Curtis Institute of Music. A classically trained baritone, Smalls gained international acclaim during his time with the Houston Grand Opera, where he performed in the iconic production of George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess. His work earned Grammy and Tony Awards in 1977, cementing his place as a prominent figure in the world of opera.
While Smalls thrived in the opera world, his passion for food was equally profound. During his time in Europe, where he toured as an opera singer, he immersed himself in the culinary arts, drawing inspiration from his travels and cultural exchanges. Food became another creative outlet, allowing him to explore his heritage and tell stories through flavors.
This intersection of artistry and culture resonated deeply with me. Growing up in a mixed-culture household, with an African Arab mother and an Arab father, food was also one of the ways of experiencing my own heritage. I would watch my mother navigate the kitchen, effortlessly creating dishes my Arab friends wouldn’t recognize and sharing stories about which part of our family these recipes came from. Sometimes, I’d see her call my grandmother to double-check the details, making sure she got the recipe just right. My grandmother had her own unique blend of spices, carefully crafted for her famous dishes, and she’d stockpile them in the fridge yearly to ensure she always had them on hand. But the recipes didn’t only come from my mom; some came from my dad and his family, their flavors distinct from hers. Every so often, the unique tastes of a dish would reveal what part of my culture it came from, subtly helping me trace the origins of the meals that shaped my upbringing.
Photo by Rich Kissi
Smalls’ ability to weave stories into his dishes resonated deeply, much like the way family recipes in my household carried the essence of our heritage. In the 1990s, he opened Café Beulah in New York City, a restaurant specializing in “Southern Revival” cuisine that blended Gullah traditions with global influences. The success of Café Beulah paved the way for future ventures, including Sweet Ophelia’s and The Shoebox Café, where Smalls continued to innovate and share the flavors of his roots, as my parents would do. Over the years, he also became a sought-after caterer for high-profile clients such as Denzel Washington, Spike Lee, and Toni Morrison. For Smalls, the kitchen became as powerful a stage as the opera house, and his mission became about storytelling—preserving African and African American experiences through music and food. Through his award-winning cookbooks, he has bridged culinary traditions and inspired new cooks like me take our first steps into our own culinary stories.
With the release of The Contemporary African Kitchen, Smalls continues his legacy of storytelling, celebrating the rich culinary traditions of the African Diaspora. The cookbook highlights recipes from leading African chefs while delving into the cultural significance of these dishes. Through its pages, Smalls invites readers to connect with the history, flavors, and personal stories that make African cuisine a global treasure. As Smalls himself describes, the Ta’amiya recipe “captures the essence of African cooking—an intersection of tradition, flavor, and history. Made with fava beans, it carries a unique earthiness, a taste of home for many.”
For me, Smalls’ Ta’amiya is more than just a recipe—it’s a celebration of the shared history and flavors that unite Arab and African heritage. The fact that I ended up successfully making this dish—and writing about it—speaks volumes about Smalls’ brilliance as both a storyteller and a recipe curator. The recipe was simple enough for a non-cook like me to follow yet rich enough in flavor to taste as though it came from a professional chef. It serves as a powerful reminder of what cookbooks like The Contemporary African Kitchen can be used—as an invitation to step into the kitchen, explore the stories behind the recipes, and create something that feels both deeply personal and universally resonant.
Working up the courage to try my hand at Ta’amiya brought with it a flood of memories. I immediately thought of my dad—the one person in my life who would be more excited about me attempting the recipe than I was. It was my dad who first introduced Ta’amiya into our lives, making it a weekly staple. Every time my aunts or cousins on his side of the family came over, there was almost always Ta’amiya on the table. To tell you the truth, my sisters and I have had enough of it at this point. We’ve eaten so much of it over the years that you’d probably never catch us eating it without him. But watching the joy it brings him as he carefully makes our sandwiches is something we can’t take away from him—so we keep our secret to ourselves.
Photo by T Alarfaj
When I shared my plan to make Ta’amiya, he was thrilled, immediately offering tips on how to assemble the sandwich perfectly and even suggesting creative ways to photograph it. While preparing the recipe, I realized that most of the ingredients were staple household items or easy to come across. However, there were some ingredients I was not familiar with until I realised that they are known to Arabs by different names differently, one of them being “Egyptian leeks”, what we know as Kurrat(h), I would not say that it is an Arabic translation, rather, it’s what it is called in the Arab region of the world. The first time my mom sent me to the store to fetch Kurrat(h), I had no idea what it was. This time, I went into the store proudly knowing what I was looking for. I also discovered the difference between Ta’amiya Falafel and the commonly known Falafel; Ta’amiya is made using fava beans –– or as Arabs know it, Foul (pronounced, “Fool”)–– whereas the more commonly known falafel is made using chickpeas.
Now everyone knows that no falafel sandwich is complete without a tahini sauce. Which is essentially, sesame seed paste, white vinegar, water and salt to taste. I unfortunately have no measurements for you as mentioned earlier, it was one of the things I picked up watching my mom taste as she went, so learn from us and just taste as you go.
My dad would argue that the best way to have falafel is with tomatoes, but I still don’t have the heart to reject the sandwiches he makes me due to my dislike for tomatoes. To disagree with my father, I would say that the best way to have falafel is however you would enjoy it best, whether it would be with tomatoes, cucumber, or even plain falafel dipped in tahini sauce, that’s how versatile they are.
The process of making Ta’amiya was not just about recreating a dish but also about reconnecting with my roots and weaving my own narrative into Smalls’ tapestry of stories. The sandwich turned out wonderfully, a fusion of Smalls’ recipe and the personal significance it has on my pride as an African Arab. It was both nostalgic and new — a perfect representation of the spirit behind The Contemporary African Kitchen.
Making this dish was a journey—not one of hardship, as it was one of the easiest recipes I’ve ever followed—but a journey of discovery. It was about learning to use ingredients I grew up with but never truly explored, trying a recipe from a cookbook for the very first time, and being able to make something I now proudly want to share with my family to enjoy together.
If you’re eager to try one of the standout dishes from The Contemporary African Kitchen, Alexander Smalls' recipe for Egyptian Falafel, or Ta’amiya, is the perfect place to start. This dish is a celebration of tradition, with its earthy flavors and unique preparation methods that highlight the rich culinary heritage of Egypt. Below is an excerpt from the cookbook, giving you a glimpse of how Smalls reimagines this iconic dish:
When I was a kid, I used to love going to this old shack where an elderly lady sat making fresh home-style taameya (falafel). I haven’t had it for more than forty years, but I can still taste it like it was yesterday. Because of her, I can tell right away if the taameya will be good or bad, just by the smell.
Taameya is served all across the nation, seeping into neighboring countries to become a part of their breakfast traditions, too. In Egypt, you’ll find it served in breakfast carts starting from the crack of dawn. What is distinct about Egyptian taameya is that it is made using dried split fava (broad) beans as the core ingredient. While making it with split beans is a longer process that requires several hours of soaking, the results are definitely worth the wait to get a light, crispy, green disk of vegan goodness. It’s so irresistible that this recipe was recognized as the best falafel in a 2016 competition at London’s Borough Market.
Enjoy with Egyptian baladi bread, traditional green salad, and tahina sauce.
Serves: 4
Preparation time: 20 minutes, plus 6-8 hours soaking
Cooking time: 10 minutes
Photo by T Alarfaj
INGREDIENTS
· 5 cups (1 lb 2 oz/500 g) split fava (broad) beans
· 1 cup (4 oz/115 g) chopped Egyptian leeks (not green/spring onions)
· 1 yellow-skinned onion, roughly chopped
· garlic, peeled, to taste
· ¼ cup (½ oz/15 g) cilantro (coriander) leaves
· ¼ cup (½ oz/15 g) parsley leaves
· 1 tablespoon minced dried coriander leaves
· 1 teaspoon salt
· ½ cup (4 oz/115 g) sesame seeds
· 1 tablespoon crushed coriander seeds
6¼ cups (50 fl oz/1.5 liters) vegetable oil
Photo by T Alarfaj
DIRECTIONS
Soak the split fava (broad) beans for 6–8 hours—the longer, the better. They should have the same bite as a raw fava bean. Note that you must change the soaking water often to prevent fermentation.
Place the leeks, onion, garlic, cilantro (coriander), and parsley in a food processor, and process until evenly chopped.
Add the presoaked split beans, and process until smooth, pausing occasionally to clean down the sides of the processor with a spatula. Add the dried coriander and salt, and blend again until incorporated. The dough should be slightly foamy, as a result of adding the salt in the final step. Scoop out the dough into a bowl.
In a separate bowl, mix together the sesame seeds and crushed coriander.
Fill a deep wok or skillet (frying pan) with the oil and heat until it reaches 350°F/175°C—you can also test the oil to see if it is ready by tossing in a few sesame seeds; when they rise to the surface, the oil is ready for frying.
Scoop about 1 tablespoon of dough into your hands (or use an ice cream scoop) and shape it into a disk. (Or you can form your dough into other shapes, including balls and sticks.) Sprinkle some sesame and coriander mix onto the disk, and carefully slip it into the oil. Cook for 2–3 minutes, until golden brown on the outside. Repeat in batches of a few at a time until you have used all the remaining dough, then serve warm.
Photo by Ludovic Avice
